


Five Moments from Past Lives (And One From the Present)

by EllieL



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: F/M, Gen, History, Past Lives, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: A look at Matthew de Clermont's history, in 200-word drabbles





	Five Moments from Past Lives (And One From the Present)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to adowtrash for the beta!

*

It was Lucas’ birthday.   
  


Or it would have been, if he hadn’t lost him last year. Lost Lucas, lost Blanca, lost his life.

  
Sleet clattered against the roof above, amplified in the empty church. Small pools of ice collected below the open windows, gleaming in the candlelight, colder than the stone floor.  
  


His knees rested on a spot of ice in the transept, skin frozen to it through the thin linen covering them. It continued falling, freezing a rime across his shoulders and frosting his hair. He was not dressed for winter, saw no need to heed the vagaries of weather, now.  
  


Looking up at the falling ice, he wondered if it would pool on the slab in front of him, cracking it as he didn’t. He’d seen stones ruined that way, whole structures brought down. He wondered if he should offer alabaster for the window, to protect them.  
  


He reached down, spreading his hand wide on the sandstone, rough under his palm. Fingers traced the minute contours of the surface, committing it to memory. He knew how long it would take for the stone to wear down to nothing, to require replacement. He would have to remember it forever.

 

*

For a moment he thought there had been a building collapse, on all this sandy ground and hastily built walls. And the building was collapsing all around him, around all of them. But it was the ground itself roiling, rippling under him, under the city.   
  


Beams and columns cracked and toppled, and for the first time, he was glad to be a vampire as they fell around him, bruising and crushing but not killing. Bones fractured but just as easily began to mend themselves, as he made his way through the imploding citadel.  
  


Not like the humans around him, skulls crushed and bodies twisted, and blood--blood, so much blood everywhere. He thought there had been enough blood shed here already, that they were trying to create something better than the grinding war that had gotten them here, but with a shake of the earth, they were all thrown back into chaos. The veneer of civilization broke as he studied the dying around him.  
  


With a cavalier shrug and very little effort, he pulled a half-dead man from underneath the rubble and finished the job, shedding less blood than the crushing stone had done. In the mayhem, no one noticed.  
  


*  
  


Giggles of ladies were muffled in one corner of the hall, as servants cleared away platters and pitchers, tables were shifted as musicians set up by the fireplace. Discordant notes of lutes and viols sounded, riotous over the ladies and gentlemen of the court pairing up to dance.  
  


He walked around the edge of the room, watching his brother, watching the ladies watch him. The young duchess caught his eye, beckoned.   
  


“Are you not playing for us tonight, Matthew?”  
  


“No, milady, I am leaving it to those more talented than I.”  
  


She smiled, batted her eyes, but the smile did not reach them. “I have heard you sing, sir, and know your talents would not be out of place here.” Cutting her teeth, flirting for no reason than that she could.  
  


“I believe you have also told me my talents are better put to dancing. Would you like to?”  
  


The smile was genuine now, and she graced him with a mocking curtsey as she allowed him to lead her to the floor, youthful eyes dancing.  
  


He let her lead the dance, the room watching them, watching her. She charmed them all, singing with the troubadours, dancing with half the room.   
  


*  
  


“As you wish, your majesty.” Tightly, with centuries of practice in keeping a carefully blank face.  
  


There was a moment of heavy, resounding silence in the hall, not a trill of the lute or titter of a courtesan, not even a barking spaniel. Just the heavy breath of the monarch, red in the face and fist clenched on the arm of his heavy chair.  
  


“That will be all, Sebastian.”  
  


At the curt words and sharp nod, he bowed and took three steps back, before turning with military precision and exiting the room. He measured the steps carefully, until the doors closed behind him, sound returned to the world, the household hum of pages and maids. As he made his way through the palace, he picked up his pace, until he reached the docks.  
  


“Where to, sir?”   
  


“The Tower.” Frowning then, face enough to terrify anyone in Britain.  
  


The boatman gave him a long look, eyeing the dagger tucked at his waist as he cast off from the dock.  
  


Resting uneasily at the prow, he wanted to tell the man that it wasn’t the blade he could see that should concern him, but he had graver matters at hand this afternoon.  
  


*  
  


He’d been here dozens of times, centuries ago. The arcade across the Cher had seemed a romantic folly at the time of building, but he’d accepted her invitations and danced the galliard across the parquet, drunk the wine, and strolled through the gardens in the moonlight. Drunk in the gardens in the moonlight, from ladies in masques and men in brocades, as the scents of orange blossoms and roses wafted through the darkness, as the faint sounds of lutes and viols from the chateau drifted through the night. Once, fireworks arced across the dark sky.   
  


Tonight, the arcade seemed less a folly and more a portal out of hell. Once again he was slipping through it at twilight, leading the way into the gardens on a moonless night, a lady and gentleman following close behind. But they were in barely more than rags, and he hoped there would be no blood shed now. No bloodshed anymore, no more explosions setting the night sky aflame. The faint sounds of artillery and gunfire were a distant percussion, but in the moonlight night the scent of orange blossom and roses still drifted across from long ago.  
  


For just a second, he paused, remembering.  
  


*  
  


The Bodleian was a cacophony of creatures, had been for days, a building crescendo. Pages flapping, leather creaking, pens scratching, whispered translations of Aramaic and Greek and Latin, clicking laptop keys, tapping fingers and toes, hushed conversations in half a dozen tongues living and long dead. Hearts beating, breaths rattling, coughs, sighs, a nervous laugh echoing off the woodwork. The scrape of chairs on wood, pulling away felt and wax, oak creaking on iron hinges, footsteps, footsteps, footsteps, around and over and past.   
  


He heard it all, building in the background, a mere distraction.  
  


Nothing was louder than  _ her _ , across from him, hardly moving, barely typing, not even whispering through her translations, fingers hovering just above the page without rasping across the vellum. But oh her blood was alive, and he could hear it pumping through her heart, through her veins, louder than anything else around them.   
  


Oblivious, quiet, she turned the page, tilted her head, as the sunlight caught the side of her face, warming her skin, drawing her blood to the surface. He listened as it concentrated, her cheek pinking, even as her heartbeat remained steady and one corner of her mouth quirked down at him, watching her.  
  


*


End file.
